Another Dance
by Write Here2
Summary: A young man struggles with the loss of his father, and the team is caught up in a major investigation. Meanwhile, they are still dealing with the fallout from their discovery of an incompetent medical examiner....
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - Not mine. Borrowed.

A/N - Am trying for a more coherent, tight storyline here, so feel free to tell me off when I inevitably forget that later on. Please let me know if there's elements of my writing from other stories that you'd like to see in this one - whether that's little moments of humour, quiet asides between particular characters, or actual characters I've invented. Any of them, that is. And, as always, please review. Thanks!

He tightened his grip on the long, steel blade, enjoying the sensation as it sliced neatly through perfectly cooked meat. The bird he had bought specifically for this occasion was large – enough for twice as many as he was feeding. They would have quite the feast. He had made sweet potato pie, roast potatoes, five kinds of boiled vegetables, mashed parsnips and carrot, Yorkshire puddings for little Katy, thick brown onion gravy for Annabel, and more besides. He had saved for weeks.

The perfect, slender slices of turkey fell gracefully to the plate. Katy, unusually quiet, handed them out as he'd asked. She was such a polite, considerate girl for her age. Her sisters doled out portions of vegetables; her brother took care of the Yorkshire puddings. They worked in silence. No doubt the size of the meal had surprised them. When they were finished, he finally lay down the knife. They all sat, whilst he recited a short prayer. _Perhaps_, he thought idly, _it is religion that keeps them so well-behaved._ The thought delighted him.

A knife clattered to the floor, making everyone jump. He looked up into Katy's big brown, terrified eyes. "S-sorry." She stammered.

He smiled kindly. "That's alright."

She got up wordlessly, and went out to the kitchen with it. He paused, waiting for the sound of the kitchen tap running.

"We'll have to talk to her later. There's no need for her to be so jumpy." He frowned. "Did something happen at school?" Katy's mother shook her head silently. "Just a phase then."

He beamed at them, and picked up his knife and fork. The others took the cue. They started on their dinners, hesitant at first, but then overcome by hunger. Katy padded back into the room with a clean knife. She sat down nervously chewing the end of her hair.

"Katy!" he snapped, slamming the end of his fork onto the table.

She jumped, and dropped her knife again. Her older sister caught it deftly, and lay it on the table. Katy shot her a grateful look. He took a deep breath, calming himself.

"I'm sorry I yelled, but I asked you not to chew your hair. It's a bad habit."

She nodded. "Sorry." Her voice was stronger this time, perhaps buoyed by her sister's hand, gently resting on her shoulder.

He smiled again, benevolently, and tucked into his dinner with relish. The others followed his cue. It really was a wonderful dinner. The meat was tender and cooked to perfection. The gravy was just thick enough to cling to everything. Even the vegetables were perfect – steaming hot, but not so well-cooked that they fell apart. He knew that this one was really special.

"So. Did you all do your homework?" he asked.

Katy was first to speak up. "Yes. Math and English."

"We all sat together and did it." Annabel said.

He nodded slowly. "You didn't help each other?"

If there was one thing that could spoil his good mood, it was the idea that his family had cheated. He believed in doing things by the rules. It was a belief that had sustained him throughout his life, after his mother had caught him stealing a candy bar when he was six. The thought put a dark frown on his face. She had been incandescent with rage. Since his brother had been sent to prison six months before, she had been terrified that he would go the same way.

"No." Annabel said. "Everyone only worked on their own stuff."

"Good."

The subject closed, everyone went back to eating. With most of their plates nearly empty, he indicated that Katy and Annabel should start offering round more food. Their mother tried to refuse at first, but he insisted that she eat – it was important not to make children feel uncomfortable about food.

"You really aren't well enough to go back to work." He said to her. "You should eat – maybe you'll feel better."

"Alright." She said weakly, holding her plate out to Katy.

He lost his interest in their appetites after that, though he was pleased to see their plates emptying fast. So much work had gone into this special meal. He had been defrosting the turkey for nearly a day, and the girls had been helping in the kitchen all morning. Poor Annabel's hands bore the marks of a nasty accident with the potato peeler. He had disinfected the cut, obviously, and bandaged it. Her mother had thanked him quietly, and taken over Annabel's "job".

Whilst they had been preparing dinner, he had alternated cooking the turkey with helping young Stefan chop wood. He had a traditional wood-burning stove in his big family room, which helped warm up the increasingly cold nights. They had worked in silence. He felt closer to the boy now – as though they had bonded. It made him feel good about the family.

The eldest girl, Lucy, helped her mother take the dishes out to the kitchen once they were done. Stefan was sent out to the yard, to pick up more of the freshly chopped wood. Meanwhile, he inspected the kids' homework, with Annabel's help. He allowed Katy to watch cartoons, mindful of her tense behavior at the dinner table. Ordinarily, he didn't like television, but if it helped her calm down, he was willing to allow a little of it. He smiled to himself, happy that everything seemed to be working out.

Flack stared stonily at the whiteboard. He had drawn up a timeline on the Friday, two days ago, as the first pieces of information had started to trickle in. Now it had been more than fifty hours since the Bellings family had gone missing, and they had almost nothing. He sighed, rubbing his tired face with equally tired hands. It seemed like everything –including sleep – had gone on hold.

"How's it going?" Bradwen's voice appeared before the detective did.

They stood together looking at the board. Flack didn't need to answer. Their sparse information did that for him. George Bellings had been frantic when they had responded to the call. His wife, Melanie, and his five children, had gone missing. He had come home from work early. The factory where he worked had a technical problem, and had been shut down for a few days. When he arrived at home, it was to an empty house. Figuring that they had simply gone out, George had settled himself down with a cold beer and a re-run of classic comedy.

Frantic calls three hours later went unanswered. It was only when he received a text from his daughter Annabel (who wasn't even supposed to have a phone), that George really went crazy. He called the police, who had been forced to call medics to have him sedated. The poor man was safely with neighbours now. They had been alerted to the problem by the arrival of squad cars. Flack stepped closer to the timeline, where Annabel's terrified words stood out in thick black marker – _**Man got us. Help Dad. Call cops.**_ There had been no further communication, and Flack was increasingly worried.

"Times like this, I wish I didn't know the stats on abductions." Bradwen said.

Flack nodded. "Yeah, I get that. Anything from forensics yet?"

"Just about to ask you the same question." He stretched. Flack winced at the popping sound. "Wanna take a walk up there? It's better than sitting round here waiting, right?"

Without saying another word, Flack followed Bradwen out of the room. He glanced back at the hated whiteboard, trying to will more information onto it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Not sure I like this chapter. Let me know what you think.

* * *

He tapped the edge of the table in frustration. She wasn't feeling well – he knew that by the pale cast of her face, and her trembling hands. The family depended on her presence. He got up to speak to her, only to see Lucy arrive home. He smiled, happy that the final child was back. The others had arrived home exactly on time. He had been worried that Lucy was in trouble.

The other girls rushed to meet her. He stood, ordering them back into the living room. They well knew that he disliked loud, boisterous behavior. Lucy walked in and dropped her school bag in the allotted place by the door. She slipped off her shoes, and put on her house slippers. The girls hung back as she walked in, afraid of being told off again. Their older sister resolved the issue by walking up to them, and throwing her arms around them. He liked that Lucy had that protective streak.

Stefan hovered, unwilling to throw himself into a hug like his sisters. He was a concern. The boy was not settling in well. He had come home from school early, complaining of a stomach bug. Once again, Lucy allowed the situation to simmer down by throwing her arm round her brother's shoulders. He caught Lucy's brief glance at her mother – and at the television. Rolling his eyes at the transparency of children, he walked over to the TV and switched it on.

"Half an hour." He said sternly.

They gathered round, huddled close together, watching some idiotic kids' cartoon about a yellow sponge. He didn't understand why the radio wasn't good enough. It was all his parents had allowed him. _Mind you_, he thought, _there's a lot of pressure on them to fit in_. He nodded to himself. That was it. They needed to relate to their friends. Half an hour of television a day, and no more. He could let them have that.

* * *

Danny swore at the evidence under his microscope, as if that would make it transform into something useful. It was a scrap of blue fiber, found caught in the Bellings' garden gate. No more than a quarter inch across, it had been ripped from a much bigger piece of material. Unfortunately, that looked like belonging to the local postal service. Up until the week before, the Bellings family had owned a large dog – a Golden Retriever, called Bob. Their faithful hound, old as it was, had trotted up to the door without fail every morning to bark endlessly at the postman, but never able to get anywhere near him until a month ago. The dog had found the door open, and joyfully raced down the street barking and chasing after him. At the time, Danny had been listening to the story by way of calming poor George Bellings down. Now it seemed that it might be relevant.

Reluctantly, he dialed the number for the local post offices. "Hello?"

"_Postal service, how-"_

"New York crime lab. I need to speak to a supervisor."

He was passed on quickly, to a woman whose voice sounded strangely familiar. Danny shook the feeling off, and explained the situation to her. She sounded sympathetic.

"_Yeah, we'll get that uniform out to you as soon as possible. The guy probably still has the same one. If not – I guess you can use it for samples, huh?"_

Feeling surprised that she had made that leap, Danny nodded. He immediately felt foolish. "Uh – yeah."

_She chuckled. "No need to sound shocked. I read, young man. Do you want it picked up from here, or delivered to you by hand?" _

Before Danny could answer, he was cut off.

"_No, wait. Never mind. I know the guy who delivers to that address, and he's just walked in. I'll go ask him now. He can drop it off – I happen to know he's heading into the city later."_

With that, Danny was cut off. He blinked, trying to work out how he had turned into a passive observer in that conversation. He shook his head, still mystified. The CSI took another look in the microscope, praying that something significant would have materialized in the two minutes he had spent tracking down the postman's uniform.

"Having fun?"

Danny jumped, cracking his knee against the desk. He swore vehemently, and glared back at Lindsey. She raised two cups of coffee in apology, and offered one to him. He took it, sipping three times before he gestured for her to sit down.

"This case is a nightmare." He said.

"I know. Mac's biting everyone's heads off, Stella's busy with everything other than this, and I don't even want to know how long it's been since Flack slept." Lindsey evaluated Danny. "And you look like total shit."

He raised an eyebrow. "Watch it, Montana."

"Oh shut up."

They sat in companionable silence, enjoying a few moments of relative peace before the inevitable chaos started up again. Lindsey scooted her chair closer to Danny's. He took her hand, trying to make up for being both absent and bad-tempered. She squeezed his fingers gently – Lindsey understood.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Stuff happens in this chapter. Things start to move in the story, although I suppose people of a particular disposition may find some of it a little upsetting. It's nottoo graphic though. OK, well I hope you enjoy this chapter. Next one may be up in a couple of hours, maybe a couple of days. Please review!

* * *

He paced up and down in front of them, trying to make them understand how it was supposed to be. How they were supposed to be the perfect family; enjoying home-cooked meals, talking rather than watching television in the evenings, discussing anything under the sun. They just didn't understand how much all of this meant to him. He stopped short, and crouched down in front of little Katy. She stood firm, trying to make her bottom lip stop trembling. Stefan lurched forward. He was caught by his mother and Lucy, who seemed at least to understand that interrupting him was a bad idea.

"Katy. My sweet little Katy." He said, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. "You know why I do this, don't you?"

She choked back a sob, and looked at her mother for guidance. Melanie nodded. Katy looked back at him, and parroted the gesture. "Yes." She said, in a surprisingly strong voice. "I understand."

"You're my good girl." He said.

Rising to his feet, he fixated on Stefan yet, who was still tense under his mother's tight grip. The boy, only just twelve, returned his gaze with cold fury. He was surprised at Stefan's strength. He would not have predicted from the quiet boy who hung back most of the time, and said little. _Perhaps_, he thought, _I have underestimated him_. The fire that his twin, Emma, possessed, was present in him too. A light bulb went on his head.

"Now you, boy." He chuckled. "You have to stop disobeying me." Stefan's face was a picture as he took the mobile phone out of his pocket. "I know you've been hiding this."

It belonged to the boy's sister, Annabel, but Stefan had undoubtedly been keeping it hidden. He had secreted it away behind a loose brick. Unfortunately for the boy, he had heard the tell-tale scraping sounds of brick against concrete, and had searched the basement whilst the kids were away at school. He regretted that now; the decision to put them in school. He realized it was too much of a risk. For all he knew, they had already passed on information.

An ugly look crossed his face. He crossed the room, and took out a shoebox from his cupboard. The family sat frozen on the sofa, as he carefully unpacked a small gun. He handled it reverently. It had belonged to his mother, who had bought it to replace the gun his father had always kept around the house. A Beretta Cheetah. The thing packed a punch, he knew. The smile he knew his mother had always loved fell into place as he turned to face the family again, holding his Beretta out at arm's length. They started to scream.

* * *

He walked into work, greeting everyone with a cheerful smile. His vacation had done him good. As he sat down at his desk, and switched on his computer, he thought over the last few days, and reflected that he only wished the break could have been longer. Although, he chuckled inwardly, judging by the state of his email inbox, it was a good thing it hadn't.

"You enjoyed that retreat of yours then?" a colleague called across the room.

He grinned. "Very much."

"Bet you didn't want to come back."

"Oh, you have no idea."

They laughed together, and he savored the sensation of having a secret that no-one could know about. Even as a child he had loved to keep secrets. He looked out of his window, putting off the daunting task of dealing with his emails for a few minutes longer. It was a beautiful day out, though the autumn weather was starting to turn cold. The leaves were already golden and red, and were starting to fall from the trees. He loved this time of year.

A noise caught his attention. Just across the street, a woman struggled with her two young children. One of them was still just a baby, really, and was screaming in his stroller. The other was maybe four years old. He was tugging on his mother's arm, trying to get her to cross the street. He smiled at the child's antics. In a few years, his mother would remind him of this behavior; perhaps telling a girlfriend about it, and laughing with her at the boy's expense. His own mother had done much the same thing. He supposed it was part of the job description.

"You planning on doing any work today?"

He looked up at his boss, who was grinning, and smiled sheepishly. "Sure."

"Welcome back."

He might have said something in return, but his boss was called away. When he looked back down at the street, the little family was gone.

* * *

Flack looked down at the tiny body of Katy Bellings and lowered his head. The crime scene was unusually quiet. He glanced at Bradwen, who was crouched down next to one of the older girls – Flack thought it might be the eldest, Lucy – and wondered how his friend was taking this. He knew that Bradwen had a little daughter of his own. The other man answered that question as he stood, and walked out of the warehouse. Flack followed him, mindful of disturbing evidence. He caught up to Bradwen as the older man leant against the car.

"How you holding up, Dave?" Flack asked quietly.

The use of his first name caught Bradwen's attention. It wasn't his real name – that was Dafydd, a relic of his parents' obsession with their Welsh ancestry – but it was what he used. The detective shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"You know – we all feel it."

Bradwen swallowed. "I know, Don. I just-" he paused, looking away from his friend. "I'll be fine."

Flack stepped closer, but Dave Bradwen never got to find out what he was going to say. Just then, Mac's car squealed up beside them. Taylor, Messer and Monroe piled out. They collected their equipment from the back, and wordlessly waited for the PD detectives to lead the way. Flack took the honours – for which Bradwen knew he ought to buy the guy as many beers as he wanted.

"Security guard patrols this whole area. Came by here about two in the morning, thought he heard some noises. He looked around, but didn't find anything." Flack paused at the door. "He came back at five, and saw the blood."

They looked down at the drying patch of reddish-brown to the left of the door. It started low on the wall, and carried on to the ground.

"It's bad, guys." He warned them.

Even with that warning ringing in their ears, nothing could have prepared the CSIs for the carnage inside the warehouse. Lindsey turned away. Flack caught her, holding her gently. He knew how that moment felt. Knew that she would have to steel herself against it – but allowed her a moment of mourning anyway. Mac's face drained of all colour. He placed a firm hand on Danny's shoulder, as much for his own sense of balance as to comfort the younger man – who looked like he wanted to throw up.

Four bodies lay sprawled across the floor, covered in blood. There were flies around already. Mac surveyed the scene, trying desperately to detach himself. He took charge. It was his responsibility to see that this was dealt with in a professional way. He would talk to his CSIs later – maybe even hint that they might like to consult a different kind of professional.

He eyed Lindsey's softly shaking form, and caught Flack's look. "Lindsey, you take the perimeter. Flack, it's been secured?"

"Since the first officers showed, yeah."

"OK. Danny, you and me are in here. Flack, could you call Stella, let her know that if she's free anytime soon, we'd like her help."

It was unusual for Mac to ask that he make that call, but seeing this devastation, Flack couldn't refuse him that favour. The detective nodded, and led Lindsey out of the warehouse. She went with him silently, trying to wipe away her tears. Mac watched her go, mindful of the equally shocked young man standing next to him. Danny was trying to pull himself together when his boss looked at him next.

"I'm OK, Mac." He said.

"I'd be very surprised – and a little disturbed – if you were. But for now, we have to work." Mac smiled sadly. "We owe it to them to do this properly."

Danny took a deep breath. "You're right. For the Bellings family."

As they fanned out, preparing to cover the scene in a spiral formation, the CSIs both noted with hope that there were only four bodies in the warehouse. The fourth, Emma, was not there. They could only pray that she was still alive somewhere, waiting for rescue.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer – Not mine.

A/N – OK. This chapter was kind of hurried because I wanted to make this author's note. This story has not been as successful as I'd hoped so far – although some people are definitely reading! – so I hope this chapter changes things. Thanks to lily for your kind review. Not sure how much I like this chapter, but I'm stuck so, it'll have to go up as is. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Crossing the street to the tiny grocer's on the corner, he caught sight of her in his peripheral vision. She was beautiful; soft and delicate. He slowed his pace. Every lunchtime for the past six months, he had made the short walk to the grocer's and bought exactly the same thing. One green apple and one banana. The grocer had started putting them aside for him in a bright blue paper bag. They occasionally exchanged a few words, mostly about the grocer's rapidly expanding family – he was sure there were more kids every time he asked, and the side of the clan that was still in Germany seemed to be breeding like rabbits.

With his head down, and his routine established, he could not have been more unobtrusive. He pretended not to notice her steady pace down the sidewalk, until the double stroller carrying her sons clipped his foot. He didn't have to pretend to be tripped. Before he knew it, he was lying on the sidewalk, suit trousers torn badly at the knee. She let out shriek, and rushed over to him. His hands had flown out to protect his head, and his knee was bleeding, but there was no real damage. _Not_, he thought slyly, _that she needed to know that_.

"I am so sorry!" She crouched down next to him, fussing.

He grimaced. "That's OK."

"Please, let me help you ip

He grimaced. "That's OK."

"Please, let me help you up."

He allowed her to take his hand, and tug gently till they were both on his feet. The tiny marks on his knee became devastating wounds, as he put on a heavy limp. The light, he could see, was starting to go on in her brain. Her constant babbling – it had been quite funny, child-like – slowed to a halt. The pale green eyes fixed him with a critical look. She made the final leap.

"I didn't realize you were back!"

"I'm not. Different job." He said gently, employing a vunerable expression. She had listened to his woes so long ago; there was no doubt that she would listen to them now.

"Right, right. Well – how have you been?" she asked.

There was genuine concern written across her face. He liked her honesty. She had always worn her heart on her sleeve. The soft accent, which had also drawn him to her, was still present, though it had faded even further. A harsher New York tone had entered her voice. It suited her strength, but not her delicate features, to his mind. The city was slowly erasing all signs of her birthplace. A simple smile crossed his face.

"What?" She was intrigued, he could tell.

"Do you - don't take this the wrong way – do you want to go for some coffee? Catch up?" He held up his hands. "Totally innocent, I promise. I'm seeing someone." _A little white lie couldn't hurt._

Her expression flashed from surprise to amusement. "You'll have to tell me everything. I expect gossip."

He took her arm, and they pushed the double stroller along together, laughing and joking in the cool autumn weather. About halfway down the street, he mentioned a wonderful little café that he knew, not far from where they had met – but far enough that he would have to drive. She acquiesced, teasing that they might just as well run away together. As she bent down to return a much-chewed soft toy to her younger son, a contented look crossed his face.

* * *

"This job sucks."

Mac looked up at his young colleague. "On this occasion I'd have to agree with you."

They had spent too many hours in that cold, grim warehouse, combing through blood and dirt for evidence. Normally Danny wouldn't have given that a second thought. He knew that this one was going to be different. They had lifted shoe prints, though most of them could probably be attributed to the guard or law enforcement. The killer seemed to have covered his tracks very well. He slumped in the front passenger seat, brooding.

On the positive side, Danny thought, he had managed to not throw up. At least two of the police officers at the scene – Flack assured him they were good guys – had staggered out minutes after walking in, and returned looking pale and shaky. Danny couldn't blame them. He had a sneaking feeling that it was luck that had stopped him.

He glanced in the mirror at Lindsey. She had regained some colour in her face. The decision to send her to the perimeter was one Danny agreed with wholeheartedly.

"Do we know who the warehouse belongs to?"

Mac shook his head. "The guard patrols a big area, and he's new. Flack's checking out the owner."

Danny grunted. "Bet he already quit."

"I would." Lindsey said, her voice already stronger. "In a heartbeat."

"Yeah, me too, Montana."

Mac smiled sadly. "If he didn't, he will."

Bradwen had spoken to the poor man. He had called the police, screaming for help. It was only the firm, gentle tones of the young officer at the other end that had calmed him down enough to get a coherent request. Officers had arrived at the scene fifteen minutes later to find him sat down on the ground, crying hysterically. With Flack occupied in the building, Bradwen had taken the guard aside and conducted a preliminary interview. One of the squad cars had taken him in for further questioning.

The bodies had been removed now. They were likely on ice in Sid's department, waiting for identification, and autopsy. The scene itself was locked up tight, under the supervision of a man Danny knew and trusted. He scratched his chin idly, making a mental noted to shave later. Lindsey, he knew, did not appreciated the bearded look.

* * *

Sid leant back in his chair. He cast an eye over the preliminary notes on Melanie Bellings. The scratchy marks that passed for his handwriting were worryingly sparse on the page. Clattering footsteps made him jump. He looked up, scowling.

"Hey." Stella said, smiling.

The medical examiner returned the smile. "Hi. You here about the flying statue case?"

"Sounds very Nancy Drew. No, Mac asked me to come down here and speak to you about the Bellings family." She said.

"Ah."

He laid down his notes, and straightened his glasses. With an air of exhaustion, Sid lead Stella to a table draped with sheets.

"Melanie. The mother." He said, pulling back the top sheet to reveal a pale mottled blue-gray-pink body.

Stella looked down at her, taking in the motherly face and grotesque wound on the left side of her forehead. She looked at Sid. His subdued manner was reflected in the lab. Since news had come in of the gruesome discovery, they had known this would be the result. She chided herself gently. Emma's body had not been found. That alone was cause for hope.

"What do we know?"

"Not much. Shot in the head. It was almost certainly the cause of death. I'd hazard a guess that she was fed by her kidnapper. And, obviously, she hasn't been dead that long."

"The children?"

Sid sighed. "Ah yes. Very similar, although I haven't had a chance to do more than glance at them yet. My esteemed colleague Patrick is coming in to assist."

"Patrick? He's our new ME?" Stella knew the name; he'd mentioned it more than once, always as part of a story – sometimes good, sometimes bad.

"He's very good at his job. Won't stay here long." Sid took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Patrick prefers to work abroad. War crimes, that sort of thing."

Stella laid a gentle hand on her friend's arm. He laid his own over it, appreciating the gesture.

"You'd better get back to the lab."

She rolled her eyes. "That's true. I'll let you get back to work. Sid – you need anything, you call me, OK?"

"I hope you know to do the same." He said. "I would hate to think that you didn't."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer – Not mine.

A/N – Not…entirely convinced by this one, but have written it a few times, and I can't think of what else to do. Thanks soooo much for the lovely reviews ReJo and lily, they have encouraged me to keep going. If anyone else is reading, I'd love it if you would do the same. The story for this one is basically planned out, unlike my haphazard way of doing things normally. So this is kind of a departure. Anyways, enjoy this chapter, and rest assured, I am working on the next one. At this rate, there should be between five and ten more chapters left, depending on how much you are all liking the story. That's all folks!

* * *

Stella quickened her pace along the corridor, eager to put distance between her and the body of Melanie Bellings. This case made her skin crawl. Just as she reached the elevator, something collided with her, sending the CSI flying. She was stunned for a moment. Stella blinked, and made out the shape of a familiar face. Two strong hands took her arms, pulling her upright. Flack offered Stella a tight, apologetic smile as he let go. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

"Another one?"

"Young woman and two small boys. I was just on my way to tell Mac."

She walked alongside him without a word. They were faster than before, each buoyed by the presence of someone else who understood the enormous pressure of such a high-profile investigation. Stella had no doubt that the press vultures would be descending soon. As lead detective on the case, Flack would have a thousand questions to answer. She only hoped that they left poor George Bellings alone in his terrible grief.

The walk was spent in silence. There was nothing they could say to lift the subdued mood, and there was no new information to provide them with the drive they needed. Rounding a corner in the lab, the pair saw Mac coming out of the break room. Stella noted the tense set of his face. He looked up and gestured for them to follow him. Evidently the news had already reached the lab. She felt like part of a military convoy as they strode into his office. Too tense to sit, she leaned against a chair instead. Flack slumped into one. The exhaustion was beginning to tell on him.

"We got-"

"I heard. Chief called me." Mac said abruptly.

"Someone want to fill me in?" Stella asked, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"Rebecca Thomas, thirty four, and her two sons. Josh, four years old, and Frankie, six months. She went to the gym – they have a daycare centre next door – and no-one's seen her since." Flack explained.

"So how do we know it's connected?"

Mac sighed. He sat on the edge of his desk, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. "We don't."

* * *

He scooped up more of the home-made baby food, checking the temperature as the boys' mother had taught him. It was just the right side of warm. With a steady hand, he aimed the spoon towards Frankie's mouth. The baby squirmed just as it reached him, spreading the gloopy mixture everywhere except his mouth. It turned the small face a peculiar shade of orange. He muttered under his breath, but kept his temper. The baby smiled endearingly. He couldn't help but smile back. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed Josh watching him.

"You feed him." He offered gently.

Josh scrambled eagerly across his mother's lap towards his baby brother. They were already close, he knew, and he was willing to bet that Josh had been allowed to feed Frankie before. He looked at her, feeling a strange rush of disgust. His own mother would never have allowed it.

"Here Frankie." Josh said, so softly he almost missed it. "Eat."

The baby was mesmerized. A grin lit up the small face as Josh somehow got Frankie to take a mouthful of food. He handed Josh a small cloth to wipe off some of the orange, and turned towards their mother. She was sitting on the sofa, so similar to Melanie, biting her nails and hitching back tears. Her eyes darted continuously from him to her sons, as if afraid that he might snap and hurt them.

He was angry with himself, in truth. This family was too soon. Not perfect. The last one had fitted into his life, almost as though they were real. It was only the memory of that which had led him to be so rash.

"You shouldn't have come here." He said.

The fact that it had been his invitation was not important. She had climbed into his car, cheerfully allowing her sons to join them. The presence of two car seats didn't seem to raise her suspicions. Perhaps she had thought he was a father – or that his new girlfriend had children. Either way, her carelessness had led to this situation. He felt trapped.

"You shouldn't have come here. " he repeated. "It's not right."

He felt everything spiraling out of control. The next family was supposed to be months away. He had even picked them out. All the usual information he gathered – he didn't have that with her. He didn't know them. Feeling the pressure mounting, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. As he left, Rebecca looked up. She waited for a few seconds, unable to believe that he had been so careless. Once she was sure, the devoted mother flew into action.

Rebecca hobbled along the sidewalk as fast as she could, hurrying Josh. The double stroller had been replaced with a single one. Her older son pushed it, sensing the urgency behind what they were doing. Still, Rebecca kept a careful eye on him. A familiar engine rolled up beside her. She saw him in the driver's seat, out of the corner of her eye. Hobbling faster, she realised that they would never be able to escape. It was then that an old-fashioned bus pulled up on the other side of the street. Rebecca could have sobbed with relief. She half-jogged up to her eldest son and whispered to him.

"Go Josh! Get on the bus, like I taught you. Take Frankie." She shooed him along.

The little boy pelted across the road at full speed, pushing the stroller. Rebecca felt a big hand grab her arm, holding it so tightly it hurt. She watched her boys disappear behind the bus, and smiled. Before anyone noticed what was going on, she had been bundled into the car. Her smile lingered. The boys were safe. Rebecca knew, instinctively, that she had won.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer – Not mine. Just borrowing, and not even for nefarious purposes, or anything.

A/N – Thank you to those who have read and reviewed, you have been helpful and cheered me up lots. There may not be an update for much longer than I had anticipated – perhaps as much as three weeks – owing to work that I should've done being due. I haven't done it. Oh dear… Please enjoy – I know that not many people are reading this story, but hopefully those of you that are like it.

* * *

Danny's irritation was palpable as he stepped out into the waiting room, looking for his visitor. The tension in his shoulders was starting to give him a headache. With the Bellings-Thomas case at such a crucial stage, this was a distraction too far. He caught sight of a middle-aged woman sitting near the elevators. She had probably been a striking young woman, if not exactly beautiful. Now, in her long blue coat and sensible shoes, with faded looks, she still had a presence.

He walked over with measured steps, trying to suppress the bad mood that had dogged him all day. She looked up as he crossed the floor. Danny caught the assessing gaze. He felt like he was being judged – and found wanting. Her simple nod in greeting told the CSI that this woman was probably quite reserved, at least in some ways. _Probably why she doesn't seem to approve of you_, he told himself.

"Detective Messer?" she said, with a tone Danny couldn't quite identify.

"Uh- yeah. Nice to meet you….?" He held out a hand.

She shook it with a firm grip. Danny tried not to wince. "Iris Blackwood. We spoke recently, on the phone."

Danny racked his brain for any memory of that call, and came up empty. He looked up to meet her gaze, suddenly able to identify that tone. Her eyes twinkled with obvious amusement.

"Maybe this will help you." She said. "_Postal service_."

His eyes widened. "Yeah. Thanks for getting that uniform out to us so fast."

"Not a problem, young man."

An awkward pause fell on the pair – although Danny was sure his new acquaintance was perfectly comfortable – as they both looked for something to say. He suddenly remembered all the work waiting for him back in the lab. The CSI winced. He had left it all with Lindsay, promising to return quickly. She was going to be upset.

"I don't mean to be rude, but…"

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "No need for kid gloves, Detective. I expected that you would be busy – as am I. Errands brought me to the city, or you would be hearing this via a phone call."

Danny's mouth opened to ask a question about that strange comment. She held up a hand to stop him, already halfway to her feet.

"Not for nothing, Detective, but I have gone a long time out of my way."

He caught her gentle look, and realized he was being both dense and slightly rude. With a flourish, Danny stepped aside. He gestured for Iris to follow him through the corridors of the CSI lab. She looked politely around, never asking questions beyond that which he could answer. It was a masterclass in how to behave. He grinned at the thought of Lindsay's reaction to that – _Hey, really? Did you take any good notes, Messer?_

Danny stopped outside Mac's office. Through the glass, he could see the older man rubbing his forehead. He winced and knocked softly. Mac waved them in without looking up, but stood respectfully. It was a gesture undoubtedly intended for their guest. _Someday_, Danny thought, _I am gonna work out how he does that_. Iris stepped forward in front of the desk. He was struck momentarily by how much she reminded him of Mac.

"Iris Blackwood." She said. Her tone was firm, and ever so slightly admonishing.

Mac looked up. He offered her what was – these days, anyway – a rare smile. "Detective Taylor. Please, sit down."

They took his suggestion, and waited for Mac to sign off on a form he had been reading. Danny had become quite adept at reading upside down since Lindsay had taken to stealing his newspaper in the mornings. And the evenings. He tried to glance at the title surreptitiously, but was sure Mac caught on anyway. He saw just enough to know it concerned their disgraced former medical examiner. Danny swore silently. Yet another case the incompetent had screwed up. He remembered the victim – and he was damn sure Mac did.

As the ink started to dry on the form, Mac sat up straight in his chair. He threw his pen the short distance to the table.

"Can we help you, Ms. Blackwood?"

Iris fixed him with a sharp gaze. "Yes. And there's no need to take that tone."

Danny's amusement at his boss being told off like a schoolboy was cut short as Mac rubbed his forehead again. The pinched look suggested a headache starting.

"You're right. I apologise." Mac said. "But we're running out of time. If you have any information at all, we need to hear it."

Iris shot the younger CSI a sideways look. Danny stopped himself short from fidgeting. She launched into her story with even tones. The young man whose uniform had snagged at the Bellings home had been exonerated. At the time of the kidnapping – and with no funds to speak of for hiring thugs – he had been visiting relatives in Canada. He had been full of relief and complaints about Canadian weather on his return to work. By the time these stories had been exhausted, the young man had remembered something quite interesting.

"He spoke to Melanie Bellings a few times. Remembered her, he said, because she was nice to him." Iris caught their questioning looks. "The customers are often rude."

They had spoken a week or so before the kidnapping, as he delivered a parcel. Melanie had glanced over the road, the young man said, and complained about the van sitting opposite. It had been there every day for a fortnight, and no one seemed to know the owner.

"The house opposite is derelict. I'm sure they assumed it was there for repairs, or a sale." Iris said.

"What kind of van was it?" Danny asked urgently.

"He wasn't sure. Something dark – a Ford, maybe blue."

He leapt to his feet. With a quick thank you to Iris, he rushed out of the door to follow up this latest snippet of information. Mac watched him go, then turned his attention back to Iris. She sat expectantly waiting for answers. With a heavy heart, Mac explained what little he could.

* * *

Flack wondered if Bradwen was doing any better with Edwin Thomas, the soon-to-be-ex-husband, than he was with James Yorath, the current boyfriend. The man was distraught; both about Rebecca, and the two children. Though they weren't his, he was devoted to them. As the man had put it, they were a package, and he had accepted that from the beginning. Flack was waiting for James to calm down after another fit of crying.

"Did Rebecca mention anything to you about someone following her, or threatening her?" he asked.

James looked up sharply. "You think she had a stalker?"

"We don't think anything yet. These are standard questions, things we gotta ask so we know what's been happening in Rebecca's life. She didn't say anything to you?"

"No."

"What about her husband?"

He shook his head. "Edwin is a good man. They got along well – just weren't right for each other. You know? I like the guy. He wouldn't do anything to upset Rebecca. Not intentionally, anyway."

The Thomas case was proving even more difficult than the Bellings one. Though they were sure the two were connected, there was no proof. Still, they were crossing over resources. Rebecca had last been seen collecting her children from a daycare centre, next to her gym. She had walked out with a cheery goodbye. That was the last anyone saw of her, and all anybody seemed to know. There were no working cameras down that stretch of road – except one that was so far past its best-before date that any pictures they might get would mostly be grey blur. Flack was almost relieved when his cell rang loudly, shattering the somber mood. He checked the front screen. Lindsay.

"Flack." He said. "What's up?"

"_The kids have been found. Danny and I are at the hospital now. I already called Bradwen – he's on his way with the husband."_

He was almost afraid to ask. "They OK?"

"_Doctors are checking them over, but they seem fine. They got on a bus – the driver didn't notice them at first, just assumed they were with one of the other passengers."_

"So – no idea where they got on the bus?"

"_Not a clue."_

Flack hung up, biting his lip to stop from swearing. That was the closest they had come yet to a solid lead. He stood, deciding to take advantage of their good fortune. "Josh and Frankie have been found." The look on James' face made all the other crap worth it, he decided.


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER – Not mine.

A/N – Thanks again to those who are reading, and especially to my loyal reviewers! (More of you, please!) Chapter seven signals an important point in the story, and with only three to five chapters left, I hope you are enjoying the ride so far. The next one is already in development – and will be a major departure from this story, which has been quite heavy for me to write. Anyways, I'll leave you to it! P.S. This chapter is kinda long. Let me know if it's too long, please!

* * *

He ground his teeth, still angry that he had lost control so quickly. She should never have set her boys free. He had known they were not perfect, but that move had surprised him. With regret, he picked up the framed photo sitting on his dining table. It showed a family portrait, clearly home-made, with him and his first family. Their passing still troubled him. It was only the fact that they would have betrayed him in the end that had forced his hand – or they would still be alive.

Now though, everything was spinning out of control, and he couldn't think how to put on the brakes. He scowled down at the sprawled figure on the floor in front of him. Luckily, there were no neighbours for some way. They were old though, going deaf, and unlikely to report anything to an establishment they did not entirely trust. He allowed a small, wry smile to cross his face. It looked odd there, as though it belonged to someone else. Glancing again at the photo before he set it down, he decided that it belonged to that man. The one who had been in control.

"Come on." He said softly, to Rebecca. "It's time for you to go now."

At the back of his mind, a tickle started. He groaned, recognizing it as the desperate need to find himself a family. This one had been unsatisfying. The next one would be better. They would understand him. They would know what to do. He smiled to himself, genuinely this time, and resolved to have more patience with the next ones. After all, it was his duty to teach them – and his failure if they did not learn. The thought buoyed him.

* * *

Mac set the coffee down next to Stella's left elbow. Without looking, she reached out and picked it up. She slumped back in her chair, closing her eyes to savour the scent of the coffee. It was better than normal – he had invested in some decent instant for a change. Her eyes opened, offering him a gentle look. Though Stella was one of his best friends, Mac never associated her particularly with gentleness and stereotypical femininity. He liked the way Flack described her once – _"Stella? She's all woman, Mac. A woman who'll kick your ass if you need it; and maybe even if you don't."_

"Remember what I said about this case being easy?" she said ruefully. "I take it back. In fact, forget I ever said it."

"What did you find?"

Stella groaned. She sipped gingerly at the hot coffee, and set it back down on the table. "Our number one suspect? Had a stroke eleven months ago. Could never have done it."

"This didn't come up in first interviews?"

She shook her head. "No."

Stella sipped her coffee. She was pleased to notice that he had gotten her favourite blend. It was strong, but had a natural sweetness. It surprised her that Mac didn't comment further. He normally had something to say about such a big slip in an investigation; Stella knew she should have been reprimanded for it. The friend in her warred with the CSI for supremacy, and won. She leant forward in her chair, ducking her head to catch his eye. A brief smile crossed Mac's face.

"Can't keep anything from you."

She grinned. "Damn right. What's going on?"

"This case…." He trailed off, throwing up his hands. "It's driving me crazy."

"Y-"

Mac's phone buzzed, interrupting her. Stella bit her lip. She had a horrible feeling that she knew exactly what kind of news this was going to be.

"Taylor." He said shortly.

The expression on Mac's face hardened. It always surprised her, even after all these years, how quickly her friend could set aside his own troubles to focus on his work. It was, she supposed, both his greatest strength and his greatest failing. As Mac hung up, she laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"You'll get the guy, Mac. I know you will." She said.

He looked away, glancing down at his phone. "I hope so. But it's too late for Rebecca Thomas."

Stella was interrupted again as Flack rushed in. She muttered something unintelligible; it seemed as though the world was working against her today.

"You heard?" Flack asked, breathlessly.

Mac nodded. "Just now." He held up the phone. "Bradwen is already there."

"I got something for you."

It took a moment for everyone to realize that Adam had appeared in the hallway, brandishing a piece of paper. He looked excited; as though he had found the gold at the end of the rainbow. That enthusiasm was one of the things that endeared him to Stella. It reminded her of her own beginnings as a CSI – too long ago, now.

"I found the owner of the warehouse – a Tyler Jaworski." Adam paused for effect.

"What is it?" Mac asked. He had picked up on that excitement too, Stella realised.

"Same guy owns the warehouse Rebecca Thomas was just found in."

* * *

He sat at his desk, having made his apologies to his boss. The guy was very generous; though he should have been, considering how poor the pay was. He was grateful for having inherited enough money from his parents to live comfortably. Tapping his pencil against his teeth, he watched the road outside. It was quiet. Quiet enough to make that odd itch flare up so much that he burned to scratch it. Earlier, he had succumbed, dashing out to the grocer's in order to get a closer look at the world outside. There had been nobody around. Though, he reasoned, his Greek salad and sub roll had been really good. Not an entirely wasted journey.

He was about ready to give up and get back to the work he was being paid a pittance for, when a sound caught his attention. It was the high-pitched voice of a young girl, pleading with her mother for a McDonald's. The little girl, he saw, was pulling her mother's hand, trying to run along the sidewalk. He grinned at the mother's sterling ability to take no notice. Apparently she believed she had greater self-control than her daughter.

"_Come on, mom! Please? We never go to McDonald's. Everyone else goes. Everyone!"_

"_No! It's bad for you, and anyway, I have a lunch ready at home."_

He raised an eyebrow at the mother's accent. If he was not very much mistaken, it was French. Diluted by years of residence in New York, but French nevertheless. He had been disturbed at first by all the different voices and cultures of the city; such a difference from his hometown. That had not lasted – still in junior high, he had fallen madly in love with a French exchanged student.

It was then that he knew. The itch vanished. There was no way he could take anyone but this woman, and her bratty daughter. That spark could be transformed into something useful. Something more appropriate to a child in his family. With a quick glance towards the clock, he formulated a plan. It was already time for him to leave work. He would simply watch them, getting ever closer and closer, until the trap was sprung. He turned away from the window, grinning to himself. The light went back on in his dark eyes.

* * *

Danny slammed the car door almost before Lindsay had brought the vehicle to a stop. She scowled at his back, but not with any real venom. His urgency was something she shared. Grabbing her kit from the back of the car, Lindsay hurried after him, all too aware of his longer stride. Flack was waiting for them by the warehouse entrance. He looked pale.

"How is it?" Danny asked brusquely. He avoided the

disturbed look in his friend's eyes.

Flack shrugged. "Ugly."

"Isn't it always?"

They followed him in. The warehouse was less bloody than the last had been, but Lindsay could not feel relieved about that with the body of an innocent woman sprawled before them. Like the others, she had been shot once in the head. The only saving grace was that this time, the children had escaped. Rebecca Thomas, she thought sadly, you're a real hero. She had saved the lives of her children, probably knowing that it would mean her own death.

"Same security guard found them."

Danny looked up, genuinely surprised, and even a little impressed. "He didn't quit?"

"He did now. Called his boss, soon as Bradwen got to the scene. Said he wasn't prepared to find anymore bodies." Flack said. "Can't say I blame him."

They walked over to Mac, who was already busy surveying the scene. He looked up at them briefly, offering just a nod in greeting. Lindsay returned the gesture. She could feel the tension thick in the air –she felt it in herself. The CSI shook herself free of those thoughts, and focused on her job. She followed Mac's line of sight. There, on the dusty warehouse floor, was a half-scuffed footprint.

"Could be…" Mac muttered to himself. He snapped a picture of it.

Their concentration on that precious footprint was shattered by shouting from outside. Flack hurried – gingerly – to the door, conscious of the evidence that he might disturb by rushing. The CSIs looked at each other. They all wanted to know what was going on, but there was so much work to do. A silent consensus was reached, and Mac made his way out of the warehouse. He was confronted with Flack trying to calm a tall, broad, frantic man.

"That's _my_ warehouse! Tell me what's going on!" he screeched. "Why the hell are you all here again?"

Mac's eyes narrowed. "This warehouse is a crime scene." Adam's excitable voice popped into his head. "Mr Jaworski."

"Yes?" A change came over Jaworski's already pale face. "It's another one isn't it? Is-" He paused, not quite ready to say it out loud. "Rebecca. Is she dead?"

Both men stepped forward, right into Jaworski's personal space.

"What do you know about Rebecca Thomas?"

"She's friends with my fiancée. Scarlet works at my son's gym, and Rebecca – well, she's a fitness fanatic. Was even more devoted before she had her two boys." Jaworski's complexion paled even further. "It is just Rebecca, isn't it?" He clapped a hand to his mouth. "That sounded awful – but –"

Flack nodded. "The boys are safe."

"Good. Good. That's – well, it's something for Edwin to hold onto." He caught their curious gazes. "Edwin visits my son's gym too. That's where they met."

Mac looked over Jaworski. Well over six feet tall, and broad, he would certainly have been strong enough to transport a body, though it didn't look as if he frequented any gyms. There was something about the man that inspired confidence. His deep, rasping voice matched that odd lilt Mac had already identified as a much-faded Polish accent. Probably Jaworski had never even lived in Poland. New York had many tight-knit communities, bound together by a need to have something in common with their neighbours. He was probably second, or even third, generation American.

Flack asked the question before Mac could. "What about Melanie Bellings? You know her?"

"No." Their faces fell. "But Scarlet did."

Had Jaworski's phone not chosen that moment to ring, Mac was sure they would have been on their way to his son's gym within seconds. The big man flipped open a ridiculously small cell phone. He listened carefully for a moments, barely offering more than a word or two. It was flipped shut and shoved back into a jeans pocket with a fluidity that suggested practice.

Jaworski wore a worried expression. "Scarlet didn't show up for her late shift." He fidgeted uncomfortably. "They tried calling her, but she's not answering."

* * *

At that moment, he sat next to Scarlet on his sofa, with his arm round her trembling shoulders. The itch was gone now. He was sure he had chosen wisely, though this family had been just as rushed as the last. The little girl, Marie, sat on the floor in front of them, obediently watching cartoons. He couldn't remember why he had been so against them when he'd first yelled at little Katy Bellings for daring to turn on the TV. It felt right, the three of them there together.

He pulled Scarlet closer to him. She had to be cold – her trembling was getting worse. It hadn't affected her cooking though. She had made a wonderful pasta bake, under his careful supervision. Marie had helped to mix up the salad, and had laid the table without complaint. He had sat with them at the table, thinking of that big roast dinner with the first family, and deciding that this small unit worked much better. They had been too unwieldy. Too ambitious for his first attempt.

Watching a little cartoon penguin throw fish, he grinned to himself. He had learnt from his mistakes. A little tune escaped from his lips. Scarlet's body stilled, frozen to the core, though he couldn't imagine why. He grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair, and tucked it around her.

"There. You should be warm now."

"That is not why –" she paused, glancing down at Marie. "Thank you."

He settled himself back down, content to enjoy the moment, all too aware that the family could disappoint him at any time. The last thing he wanted to do was find another – but if it came to it, he knew a young woman just down the street who would be perfect. The itch flared for a second, somewhere indefinable between his shoulder blades. It taunted him, daring the peace he had found to fall apart.

Marie distracted him from that thought by timidly turning around. "Can I-" She stopped. Her bottom lip wobbled.

"You can go to the bathroom if you need to, sweetie. Just down the hall." He said, smiling at her good manners. _Yes_, he thought, _Scarlet and Marie are perfect_.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer – Not mine.

A/N – Written really, really fast, so please excuse any continuity errors or anything like that. It should be OK though, because the various chapters are plotted out (well, more or less). Right – only a few more to go, and no promises on when exactly you're gonna get them. Hope you enjoy this though, because our Mystery Man is on the move…

* * *

Aleksy Jaworski ran a shaking hand through his thick, dark hair. He had been shaken by the news that the terrible crimes he had seen on the news were connected to himself, and his gym. The notion that his soon-to-be mother-in-law might have been taken by the same man was too awful to contemplate. Aleksy had rushed for the bathroom, throwing up noisily. He had exited with a pale face that looked so much like his father's, Flack had been startled. The strength he had inherited from Jaworski senior was something he latched onto. Taking charge, Aleksy lead them into his office, away from prying eyes.

"I feel awful about this. It didn't even enter my mind that they might be connected by-" he gestured wildly "-this place."

"Did they all know each other?" Flack asked. He was calm and collected, knowing well the importance of keeping Aleksy focused on his questions.

"Yes – yes, they did, this isn't a big gym. But only in passing. Scarlet knew Rebecca quite well, though."

He explained that Scarlet's natural, generous nature meant that everyone who passed through the doors knew her name, whether customer or colleague. It didn't matter to Aleksy that his mother-in-law would be two years younger than himself, only that she was utterly devoted to his father, and to her daughter Marie.

"She takes Marie to the daycare centre next door." He explained briefly.

Flack glanced sideways at Mac, confirming that the CSI had noted that link between the victims. "Is there anyone who had been bothering Scarlet, or the others?"

Aleksy opened his mouth, as if to say no, but stopped short. "Actually – there was guy who worked here. He left six months ago."

"What was his name?"

The young man whirled round in his chair, and scrabbled for a set of keys. With shaking hands, he unlocked the lowest compartment of a dark grey filing cabinet. The keys clattered against the metal front, disturbing the quiet, tense atmosphere. Aleksy flicked through file after file, before triumphantly 

producing a non-descript looking beige folder. He opened it up, and spun it round, throwing it down onto the desk so that everyone could see it. Bradwen leant forward for a closer look.

"Ben Giordano. Front desk sales." He read aloud.

"Good worker. Or, he was, until about three months before he left." Aleksy said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I should have fired the guy, but I felt bad for him. He left to look after his mom. She was sick. Cancer, I think. Last I heard, she died."

"What was it about Giordano, that you should've fired him?"

"He – bothered some of the female customers. Hit on one or two of them." Aleksy held up his hands. "I don't ban that. I met my girlfriend here, and I'm no hypocrite. But Ben – he chose women who did not want him, and then wouldn't leave them alone. Scarlet persuaded me not to fire the guy. Said he had enough troubles, and she would talk to him about his behavior. Pretty soon, it all stopped."

"So she saved his job."

"Yeah. Scarlet's like that. A real people person. And I got no doubt, she gave him hell for scaring those women. He apologized to every one of 'em - promised to leave them alone." Aleksy said. He took a deep breath. "She's going to be OK, isn't she? My dad – he'd be devastated if anything happened to Scarlet. After my mom died, he just fell apart."

It burned in Flack's chest that he could do nothing but offer the usual platitudes. His only comfort was that the net was closing. He took the file, thanking Aleksy Jaworski for his time, and followed the two other men out of the office. Flack couldn't help but take another look at the face of the Devil. Ben Giordano looked up at him from the page, smiling slightly, looking like nothing else but an average young man.

* * *

Across the street, he watched them exit the gym. A sick feeling rose in his throat. The itch flared up again, burning between his shoulder blades. This time, he knew, he would have to scratch it. Coming into work again had been a mistake. He turned away from the window abruptly, and tapped a few keys, closing down his computer. His boss stopped by his desk. The look of twisted pain must have showed on his face, because suddenly he was being asked too many questions.

"Are you alright? Not feeling sick again, I hope?"

He smiled inwardly. This was his opening. "A little – but I already took so much time off. I don't want to let the place down."

His boss rolled his eyes, and waved away any protests. "If you stay, you'll only pass on that bug to the rest of us. Go on, get out of here before I catch whatever it is."

He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. It took enormous effort to keep from running out of the place at top speed, but somehow he managed to maintain a slow, sickly pace. A few of his coworkers offered concerned comments, asking after his health. He let his gaze drop, and explained in that gentle, vunerable way that he had perfected, that the boss was sending him home. One or two made jokes, but the rest seemed genuinely worried. Always the perfect worker, he was now off again.

He could hardly keep the grin from his face as he finally escaped the office. The feeling of keeping a secret warmed his heart, and kept the itch at bay just a little longer. The memory of the three men exiting the gym wiped the grin away. He burned inwardly at the thought that they might be getting closer. He bit his lip, vowing to protect his new family at all costs.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer - Not mine. Just borrowing them for this story.

A/N - OK, I really must go and do some useful work now...hope you enjoy this chapter, I just had to get it written! The net is closing on our creepy guy, and there are just three chapters left according to my plan. So please, read and review, let me know what you think. Thanks again to those who have already reviewed - sorry I haven't replied to you individually - I usually do, but I've been hurrying to get the next chapter done...and the next...and the next...

* * *

He paced up and down in front of the pair, who watched him with wide eyes. The shouting was over and done with – now he was almost calm. He saw now that the problem came when he left his family. They needed him at home, where he could make sure they were safe. Where the itch would not come to him, and he would not be tempted away from them. Still he felt that residual anger that came from a sense of betrayal.

He stopped walking, and crouched down in front of the sofa. With a gentle smile, he reached out for Scarlet's leg. She withdrew it sharply, and tried to get further away from him. He stood again, confused by her behavior. He never hurt them. He never touched the women. They were too pure; he just wanted to keep his families safe. He had only meant to reassure her that she would come to no harm. With a scowl, he leant forward, and grabbed her arm, dragging Scarlet upwards. She screamed, so loud it hurt his ears.

"Shut up!" he snarled. "Act like a lady."

The little girl, Marie, flew at him like a banshee, kicking and screaming even louder than her mother. She bit and scratched like a crazed animal. He dropped Scarlet back on the sofa. Her face had gone completely white. With a strong hand, he pushed Marie backwards. The girl tripped, banging her head against the side of the sofa. Scarlet lurched forward, grabbing her child. They huddled together, trembling again.

"She's fine." He said, suddenly calmer. "She just surprised herself, that's all."

The anger was gone again, as quickly as it had arrived. He was concerned by that, though less concerned than he was by the little girl's violence. _Maybe I should talk to Marie later_, he thought, as he headed for the kitchen, _find out what's bothering her_. He whistled as he began pulling items from the cupboards to make dinner. _Yes – that's a good idea_. He grinned, pleased with himself for being a good, strong father.

Any worries he'd had about the police, and discovery floated away as he heard the rattle of the front door. The grin faded to a twisted smile. They would not escape – he had learnt from his mistakes with Rebecca. He scowled at the name, and dismissed the memory. _Dinner, that's the thing. A good, hearty family dinner_. It had, after all, worked before.

* * *

Danny raised an eyebrow as Adam rushed past. He wanted to follow the younger man. Things were finally starting to turn in their favor. Flack was working feverishly to locate Ben Giardino, Lindsay was tracking Scarlet Dubonnet's last movements. He cast a resentful glance in Sid's direction. He badly wanted to catch the man who had already ruined two families. It felt as though he was betraying the victims by moving on.

Immediately, the CSI admonished himself. Sid had been forced to ask for help confirming the validity of evidence found in one of the lab's disputed cases. When he was thinking logically, Danny knew Mac had made a statement of faith by transferring him. It meant his boss trusted him to do a good job, and clear the lab's name. Danny bit his lip, staring wistfully down the corridor. He wouldn't chase 

after Adam, but couldn't help wishing he was still a part of the case. With a heavy sigh, the CSI looked down at yet another months-old report, refocusing his mind.

Adam flew into the conference room that was doubling as the base of operations for their serial. He crashed into a chair, and just stopped himself from ending up on the floor. The piece of paper miraculously stayed in his hands. It was the recent increase in his responsibilities that was making Adam so nervous. He reminded himself, as Mac manfully pretended not to have seen his entrance, that he had already made an invaluable contribution, finding Tyler Jaworski and now this vital piece of evidence.

"Mac." He called out, as though his boss hadn't already noticed him.

The older man looked up. "What is it, Adam?"

"Got a fingerprint off Rebecca Thomas's watch. It's a match to bloody fingerprints found on all the first five victims." Adam allowed himself a small grin. His boss' sudden interest didn't escape the young man. "It's also a match to Ben Giardino."

The sudden lift in Mac's mood, and the determined look that crossed his face, was worth the run over, Adam decided. He handed over the print-out that confirmed his findings. His boss checked it over. It wasn't a comment on his ability – just a desire to make sure that Giardino had no way of escaping prosecution. Mac nodded, and clapped a strong hand on Adam's shoulder.

"Great work. Call Lindsay, ask her to meet me at the car in five minutes." Mac said.

The young man tried not to puff out his chest too much. He hurried away again, eager to play a part in catching Giardino. Mac watched him go, wondering if he'd ever had that much energy. With a chuckle that spoke of adrenaline coursing through his veins – and the memory of an elderly aunt saying the exact same thing to him thirty years ago – he picked up his phone to speed-dial Flack. The detective picked up within two rings.

"Flack? Good news. We've got Giardino's prints on the bodies." Mac said.

Flack took a moment to reply through a crackly line. _"Yeah? I got even better news. I know where his brother lives. Let's go get the son of a bitch."_


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer – Oh, woe, still not mine.

A/N – Third last chapter, and this rapid updating really will not last! Hope you enjoy this one as the story comes to a close – and be warned. Kind of an Evil Cliffhanger Alert. Sorry. Well, not that sorry…hehe! Please read and review.

Oh, P.S., have used the term 'cookie' rather than 'biscuit', am assuming that's correct. My American friend uses that word for everything from ginger to chocolate chip.

* * *

Tom Giardino opened his front door, half-asleep in his tracksuit bottoms and Mets t-shirt. He blinked a few times at the badges being thrust at his face, and stepped aside to let the four detectives in. He followed them, passing the group just before his living room. They took up tense positions on his sofa and spare chair. Giardino slouched into his armchair and waited for an explanation.

Flack introduced everyone again, perhaps realizing that the man was not fully awake. "We're looking for your brother." He said slowly.

Giardino frowned. "Ben? What did he do?"

"We need to speak to him urgently about an important case."

It was, Lindsay said later, like flicking a switch. Suddenly Giardino was awake, sitting forward and alert. He seemed almost nervous, as though he was expecting something bad. It was clear that they would get nothing without explaining themselves further. Bradwen made to step in. Lindsay stopped him with a look. The man was a good detective, but this required a different touch. She decided to play on Giardino's obvious tension around her.

"We could really use your help." She said, using her best soft-Montana voice.

He shook his head. "Not until you tell me what this is about."

Lindsay sighed. "Alright, Mr Giardino."

"Tom."

"He's wanted for questioning in the deaths of two women, and four children." Her words dropped like a bomb. Lindsay switched off the Nice Guy routine. "Tom, he killed those people. And we think you might be able to help us stop him."

The man before them crumbled. He covered his face with his hands, as though that would make the world go away. With a halting voice, he tried to explain his brother to them. Twenty years ago, their father had died on his way home from a camping trip with Ben. The car had turned over, slipping on wet tarmac, and careering off the road. It was a miracle Ben had survived, and with barely a scratch – although, in a lot of ways, he hadn't. The sweet young boy who had gone away never came back. He was replaced by an angry, resentful teenager, who became enveloped by their mother's suffocating love.

"I left for college soon as I could. Full ride to NYU. Worked two jobs. Never went home again." Tom paused, with tears in his eyes. "Maybe I should have done. I told our mom Ben needed help – that he was getting…strange." He looked up at them. "He used to sing this song all the time." Tom hummed softly.

Lindsay swallowed. She knew that no platitudes would help Tom Giardino. She listened sympathetically, but couldn't place the song.

"Will you help us?" Mac asked gently. "Help us save the family he has now. Stop your brother getting in any deeper."

Tom chewed his lip. It had to be a recurring habit, Lindsay decided. "Alright. I'll help you. But…Ben will flip out if you turn up at his door. It's better if I go to meet him and try to get them out. He might be a monster now, but I owe the little boy he used to be."

* * *

Stella sat with Danny in the break room, listening to the young man's rambling. He needed to talk, and she was willing to listen. His last action on the case had been to break the news that Ben Giardino was very probably a serial killer to the guy's horrified boss. The way Danny told the tale, it seemed to have really affected them both.

"_Yes, can I help you?" _

_Danny looked at the middle-aged office worker, and knew instantly that this was Ben Giardino's boss. The man looked kind; definitely not a part of his employee's horrific actions. He introduced himself calmly. Inside, his guts were twisting. This was not his favorite part of the job._

"_Oh. Well I don't know how we can help you with your inquiries, Detective, but please, anything you need." The man said seriously. "Anything at all."_

"_Ben Giardino. He here today?"_

_The surprise showed. "No… He went home sick last night. I had expected him to call in this morning, but nothing so far. He's probably asleep." A smile crossed the man's face before the obvious question occurred to him. "Why do you need to speak to Ben?"_

"_Maybe we should talk in your office."_

_The guy introduced himself as they walked through the dingy main office, towards the back room that served as the boss' quarters. He was Lawrence Parker, owner of the establishment, and proud to be so. Danny almost wished he worked for the guy by the time they sat down. There could be no better boss than this. It broke his heart to break Parker's. They settled –Danny refused offers of coffee, water and even cookies – custard creams that Parker said his daughter had brought back from England. He hadn't had the heart to tell her he could get them in New York. Danny rethought that last offer, and bit into the pale cookie, savouring its taste._

_The informalities done, Danny brushed the last crumbs from his sweater, and fixed Parker with a somber gaze. "Ben is wanted for questioning."_

"_Why? What is he supposed to have done? Ben's a good man."_

"_We think he may have killed six people. Kidnapped more."_

_A dark look crossed Parker's kind features as he realized which case the young detective was referring to. "Oh my God."_

"_Y-"_

"_You don't really think Ben could have had anything to do with – that, do you?"_

_Danny explained, briefly, that their evidence was damning. He asked about Ben's recent absences from work. The dark look deepened. It was then that Danny knew he'd done it. He knew they had the right man, if only they could find him. He offered Parker a conciliatory look, but the man's eyes were already filling with tears. This would haunt him forever._

Stella looked up in surprise, realizing that Danny was looking at her, waiting for an answer. "Sorry, Danny. I was miles away."

* * *

He shrugged, hardly bothered by it. Whatever he had wanted an answer for, it wasn't important. The pair sat together, trying to convince each other and themselves that they weren't simply waiting for news about the Giardino case. When Hawkes strode in, bearing an empty cup (the one Stella had bought for his last birthday, with the flamingos on it), they both breathed a silent sigh of relief. New blood meant better opportunities to avoid the elephant in the room.

Flack and the others watched and listened from inside the van. They had fitted Tom with a wire, and coached him on what to say. As he knocked on his brother's door, their hearts started to pound wildly. Flack slipped on his headphones, and tapped the van's resident tech genius on the shoulder. The young man – new to the job and very nervy – jumped. He scowled at Flack, drawing a line across his throat. The detective shrugged apologetically. He gestured towards the equipment. The tech nodded. It was working just fine – his expression suggested both that the question was an insult to his talents, and that _now_ was not the best time to ask.

The door swung open, and the van's residents collectively held their breath. They listened with tense muscles and adrenaline fuelled minds.

"_Tommy? What are you doing here?"_

There was a nervous laugh. _"Wanted to see my little brother." _ He paused. _"I'm getting married. Next week, Ben. I wanted you to be there."_

This was the story they had set up for Tom. It had the virtue of having its basis in truth. He was engaged to be married in six months. With Ben's apparent obsession with family, it seemed the ideal way to reel him in. Flack chewed a fingernail absent-mindedly.

"_My brother, no longer the eternal bachelor." _ Ben laughed. It was such an ordinary sound. _"So why now. Why not last month?"_

They could almost hear the shrug. _"To be honest, I wasn't sure I wanted you there. We argued so much last time we saw each other."_

"_That's true."_

"_Anyway, I changed my mind. You have to come along. My fiancée – she has a beautiful little girl, and a baby boy."_

That part of the scenario was a lie. Tom's fiancée was a twenty-two year old divorcee who had married her ex-husband to escape a boring life in a backwater Kentucky town. She was an administrator now, at a mid-range New York building firm, on a surprisingly good salary. As the sole wage earner in their partnership, she really had to be.

"_I heard you got fired." _Ben said after a few moments.

The last connection had fallen into place when Tyler Jaworski, who had taken to hanging around the station for news, had bumped into Tom as he was going in to be fitted with the wire. They had a brief, awkward conversation. It was clear that Jaworski didn't blame Tom for what had happened. The awkwardness stemmed from the fact that he had fired the younger man months before.

"_My own fault. I made some stupid mistakes. It's OK. I have an interview tomorrow. It's looking good, Ben. Really it is."_

"_I'm…glad to hear it." _ There was another awkward pause. Lindsay pulled Flack's hand away from his mouth before he decimated all his nails. _"Come in."_

They settled into the living room, and talked about trivial things for a while. Things like their relatives; the weather; the Met's poor record. Tom eventually managed to bring the conversation round. They heard a strange rattling noise through the headsets.

"_What's this? What are you doing with kid toys, Ben? Don't tell me you've got one of your own."_

"_What would be so wrong about that?" _He sounded sharp, defensive. Flack crossed his fingers.

"_Nothing, baby brother. It's just I'd really like to meet my niece, if I've got one. We should be a real family again."_

Mac finally remembered to breath. He was sure he'd been close to passing out, with the high temperature in the van and every muscle solid with tension. Glancing around, he could tell everyone just wanted this over.

"_Actually – I do have a family. They're perfect." _

He raised his eyebrows. In none of the various scenarios that Mac had been running through his head since they'd started talking about this operation, had Ben given up that information so easily. He checked his vest one more time. Strictly speaking, they were supposed to stay in the van, but permission had been extracted for both Mac and Lindsay to go in.

"_Can I meet them?"_

Ben must have given his consent, because the pair started to walk into the kitchen, with its hard flagstone tiles. A squeaking sound announced the basement door opening. The team started to prepare itself. They crept, one by one, out of the two vans that had been set up at a safe distance. Gradually, they got closer to the house, using the quietest means possible to get in.

Flack gestured for the two CSIs to follow him, with Bradwen just behind. They went in the kitchen door, which lead out to the side of the house. Keeping low, they crept up to the basement entrance, where low voices were talking in earnest.

"_They're – wonderful." _

He identified the croaking voice as Tom. By the sounds of it, he wasn't coping too well. Flack gestured for Bradwen and Mac to take the other route round to the basement – its second entrance was through the laundry room at the rear of the sprawling house. He and Lindsay hunched down next to the door, and waited for a relayed message telling them everyone was in position.

Flack could hardly recall the details later. He remembered that he and Lindsay stormed down the stairs, guns drawn, with two other officers. Bradwen and Mac had brought three more. Tom drew away from his brother, shielding the victims. The detective remembered feeling that he had underestimated the man.

"We've got you, Giardino. No escape now. Put the gun down." Bradwen said. He stepped forward. "Put it down. No-one wants anybody else to die."

The man they had been hunting high and low for looked so ordinary. His eyes flickered from one group of officers to the other. The Beretta in his hands wavered slightly. He lifted it, pointing the weapon directly at Flack. Two shots rang out, splintering the air. Giardino collapsed to the ground. Children's screams hurt Flack's ears. He edged closer to Giardino, and kicked the gun away from him. He glanced at the wound. High in the right shoulder, it would probably be fixable. Flack ignored the part of himself that regretted that, and focused on the victims.

He was joined by Lindsay in trying to free them from their restraints. With Tom Giardino, they had three pairs of hands. Soon they had managed to release all three of them – Flack was overjoyed to see that the missing Bellings girl was with Scarlet and Marie Dubonnet. He hadn't expected to find her alive. Had thought that her body would turn up somewhere; perhaps in yet another warehouse.

Flack would remember later that he was hugging Marie tightly when Bradwen's yell reached his ears. He turned as he stood, gun drawn, pushing the victims behind him with his spare hand. Ben could move fast – he had pulled another gun. Flack swore. He should have checked for a back-up. Before the detective could pull the trigger, two more shots rang out in the dingy basement. He fired again, dropping Giardino to the ground, and looked to see who had been hurt.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - OK, so it's been a little while since I've updated. And sorry it's a short chapter - the second last one, can you believe it? I'm still getting back into the rhythm of writing, although once I've finished the stories that have been sadly neglected, I don't anticipate starting any more. Please enjoy!

* * *

She remembered it later as taking such a long time. A flurry of action stopped abruptly, followed by eerie silence. Dust kicked up from the basement floor took its time to clear. Lindsay coughed as it irritated her lungs. She had stared in horror at the scene as it went on in front of her. At the edge of it, she was frozen against the wall. Emma Bellings was enveloped tightly in the CSI's arms. Her little face was buried in the standard-issue black jacket.

As the dust finally settled, Lindsay felt the adrenaline drain from her body. She slid down against the basement wall, still clutching Emma tightly. They hit the floor with a soft 'thump'. Her brain tried to make sense of what had happened.

Lindsay looked down as a tear-stained face looked up. "It's alright. Your dad is waiting for you."

The loss of the rest of his family had hit George Bellings hard. It was a mystery how he had managed to stay sane. Lindsay figured it had a lot to do with the little girl now shaking with fear in her arms.

"He is?"

"Yeah. He wants to see you right away."

Emma stretched out a shaking hand to point at Giardino's prone body. "He told me…"

Lindsay never found out exactly what the little girl had been told. One of the uniforms began to shout; words that didn't get through to her still-foggy brain. Emma burst into tears. The sick feeling at the back of the CSI's throat rose with menace. It had lingered since the discovery at that first warehouse.

She blinked, clearing the last of the fog, and took her first good look at the situation. The Dubonnets were huddled behind Tom Giardino, who had become quite the hero in little Marie's eyes. His estranged brother lay sprawled on the dusty basement floor. Blood pumped from his chest at an alarming rate. _So he's not dead yet_, Lindsay thought slowly. She turned her head away from the monstrous man they had been chasing. Flack was still standing with his gun raised. It shook with tension.

"Flack?" she said, softly.

The detective hardly seemed to hear her. He snatched Giardino's second gun. "I'm alright." Flack said. He didn't look her in the eye.

The confusion flowed back into Lindsay's brain. She closed her eyes with relief. This was one situation where she was happy to let someone else take control. It was then that the room exploded into action.

* * *

Hawkes yawned. He checked his watch and muttered under his breath. There were hours left to go in his shift, and no sign of anything remotely interesting that demanded his attention. A guilty voice at the back of his head reminded the CSI that whilst he sat drinking herbal tea, his friends were facing a difficult job. Hawkes sipped at the tea, and tried not to think too closely about the possibilities.

"You know Sid has a friend coming here?" Stella said.

She had been trying to make conversation for the last half hour, with little success. Truth be told, they were all worried.

Sid made a sound halfway between a grunt and a snort. "I'd hardly call him a friend. He always seems to get me into trouble."

"He's helping with the clear-up?" Hawkes asked politely. He knew the answer already – Patrick Blake was brilliant at his job, and would be virtuably irrefutable in court.

"His version of helping."

He exchanged an amused glance with Stella. "You seem a little…"

"Grumpy." She supplied helpfully.

Sid rolled his shoulders back, and clicked his jaw. "Not really. It' s just that Patrick can be a little overwhelming." A sly grin crossed his face. "And good fun."

Hawkes raised an eyebrow. Given the stories he had already heard about Blake, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what Sid meant by "overwhelming". Or "good fun", for that matter. Stella leant forward, ready to take the bait. She had just opened her mouth to speak, when Adam crashed into the break room. He narrowly avoided hitting the table.

"The Giardino case. They found Emma Bellings. And the Dubonnets."

Hawkes grinned. "That's great news." He caught the nervous look in Adam's eye. "It's not great news, is it? Did something happen to them?"

"They're fine. Shaken up, but fine." Adam said. "Flack's at the hospital now – he called me. Giardino was shot." He stopped, nearly bumping into a lab tech. "But – there's bad news, guys."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - apologies for the uber short chapter. I will be tacking on an extra one, but got really stuck so thought I'd just post this part of the story to keep things going.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Flack and Lindsay sat together in the waiting room, trying to will the seconds on. They both felt as though it had been hours since they had burst through the doors of the ER. In reality, it had only been thirty-five minutes. Each of them slower than the last. Flack stood up, and began to pace up and down the small room. He couldn't find it in himself to calm down. There was too much happening in his head. For her part, Lindsay simply offered him a watery smile that was not reassuring at all.

Flack checked his phone again, before remembering he had turned it off. "They should be here."

"Be patient."Lindsay said.

He nodded, aware that she was just as shaken up as he was – perhaps more so. It was hard to sit and wait though. Especially when you knew that two of your friends were out there, getting patched up. Or worse, not getting patched up, because the damage was simply too bad. Flack ran his hands through already messy hair and swore vehemently. He had never been good at waiting.

"Where are the others?"

"You know where they are." She said patiently. "He'll be back from the coffee machine in a minute, maybe he'll find something out on the way."

Flack watched as the clock ticked round again. Thirty-six minutes. He stared intently at it, as if that could make time go by faster. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. After a while, the detective became aware of Lindsay's worried voice - and her face, much closer than it had been before. He jolted away. Flack straightened himself up; he was as much embarrassed as anything else.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded. "I'm fine. I just need to hear something about our guys." His long fingers ran through his hair again and again, trying to find some way of expelling the excess tension. "I just need –" Flack stopped short.

The detective slumped into a chair, all the energy suddenly gone from his tall frame. Lindsay shifted to sit next to him. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and tried to smile again. Tears filled her eyes. Flack berated himself for not realizing how much this had gotten to his friend. He put an arm round her shoulders and hugged the CSI tightly. It was times like these that they needed to stand together.


End file.
